I Am Not A Robot
by Miss Nihilist
Summary: Now that the game was over and won, Dave had all the time he needed to move on and accept the unusual relationship he had with Bro. And with a little help from Dirk, confronting his dead guardian face-to-face became a lot easier than he first thought. [Sadstuck]


It was a perfect replica.

Dave knew that the machine he was wearing could read and understand his thoughts and memories, but it was still impressive. The apartment was just like he remembered, so exact that it caught him off guard, right down to the details that he never cared to make note of. The ketchup stain on the living room ceiling from an incident when he was nine, the little shards of broken sword pieces kicked against the wall because neither he nor Bro had felt any inclination to pick them up…

Everything was exact. He ran his hand over the wall, marveling at the familiar texture of the drywall. Even the air smelled the same — like apple juice that had gone bad in the sweltering Texas sun. The hum of the air conditioning resonated quietly through the small space, left running even though it had never once succeeded in cooling Dave off.

And Bro was just as he remembered, too.

When he turned to look behind him, his guardian was there, even though he hadn't felt anyone moving. In actuality, his model and AI had probably only just finished rendering, but Dave found it eerie how similar it was to Bro's actual self. He had never been the kind of guy who liked to be seen. He was always on the move.

Now, though, he stood oddly still, his arms crossed. He was… shorter than Dave remembered. Or maybe he had just grown a lot more than he had realized. Bro had always seemed to tower above him, an impossible goal of perfection that Dave could never hope to reach. But now, they were almost eye-level. From this angle, Bro didn't look perfect anymore. He just looked tired.

His expression didn't change, carefully calm after several pep talks with Karkat and hours of practicing in the mirror, but Bro reached out towards him anyway. Dave didn't flinch. Bro didn't had never hit him unless it was during a sparring session and there was no sword in his hand now. He bowed his head though, feeling Bro ruffle his hair. "You did good," He said in his gruff voice.

Unsurprisingly, when Dave looked up at him, his brother's expression hadn't changed. He didn't look happy or proud, but his tone was fond, almost. Dave swallowed thickly. He felt a lot less brave looking into Bro's shades than he did when he had been clutching Karkat's hand.

"You… know what I did?" He asked, hesitant. Bro wasn't a liar, but Dave was confused. He couldn't tell if this was really something Bro would do or if it was just his fantasies taking the wheel.

Bro nodded and grunted. "Yeah. 'Course I do. I didn't die so you could sit back on your ass and not do anything." For a moment, Bro's image flickered. His meticulously-kept tan became pasty, his skin peeling away to reveal cracked bone. His shades disappeared in a glitch of ones and zeros, and expressionless, cloudy eyes fixed on a spot just above Dave's head. Blood welled over his shirt, pouring forth from a gaping hole in his chest and Dave found himself unable to look away. His heartbeat drowned out the sounds of the apartment, the hum of traffic 26 floors below, and his sight narrowed to tunnel vision. This was an awful idea, why would he do this to himself? He almost pulled the switch, almost told Dirk to pull him out, but with a lurch, the world righted itself. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, Bro was just as alive as the program dictated he should be. "Striders get shit done." He was saying, as if nothing had happened. His hand fell away from Dave's head as he moved to the kitchen. Instead of flashstepping, he walked and Dave knew instinctively that this meant he was supposed to follow.

He hovered by the entrance to the kitchen, watching Bro get a glass and fill it with water from the tap. The pipes squeaked just like he knew they would. Clutching his glass, Bro turned back to him but didn't make a move to take a drink. Maybe the computer wasn't too good at that one yet.

"I… wanted to talk to you," Dave stated after a moment. This wasn't even his real brother, but even so, he felt naked and vulnerable under his stare. Where had his smart remarks gone, or the nerves he had readied before attempting this? He felt like he was thirteen again, despite all he had been through since then and now.

Bro didn't bat an eye. "I know," He stated. Silence hung between them, and Bro finally lifted his glass to drink from it. As much as Dave hated it, he knew what that meant. If he wanted to talk, he would have to start the conversation. His guardian was so patient. Dave knew that he would wait as long as he had to.

Dave curled his hands into fists at his sides, clenching his jaw. Goddamnit, this shouldn't be so difficult. _Just spit it out!_ "It felt awful, you know," He managed finally. Five words, but it was a start, and it gave him the courage to say more. "When— when I saw you dead, it felt terrible. I… felt abandoned and alone." Bro opened his mouth, but Dave ignored him. He kept going. "I didn't understand it! You weren't… you weren't supposed to die, you were always so much better than me at _everything_ , it— it didn't make sense that you would be dead. But even more than that, I… didn't understand _why_ I felt so… relieved." It was crushing to admit that out loud for the first time. The silence between them was agonizing. In the back of his mind, Dave wondered how the computer must be handling this. Even Dave had no idea how Bro would really react if Dave had had the opportunity to tell him everything. But real or not, this was all that Dave was going to get. He kept going. "I didn't know how… _toxic_ all of it was until I started trying to figure out how it felt. I _cried_ over you, but I didn't know _why_. _Why_ did I feel so guilty and so _fucking_ lonely? You had never felt guilty when you left me alone for weeks at a time with no notice. You never felt lonely when you locked yourself in your room and forgot to get me dinner! So— so why do I _still_ feel so _awful_?"

He took one step forward, then another, and somehow found the courage to sink his fist into Bro's jaw. Now, the reaction to that was just like he knew it would be. _Finally_ , the empty shell, the piss-poor copy of his brother, reacted. His hand shot out, grabbing Dave's wrist tight enough to bruise had he been real, locking him in place. Dave's careful mask, the one he had so delicately prepared just for this event, shattered like it was nothing. He was crying, he knew he was, and he pathetically _wished_ that Bro would look at him with an expression other than casual disinterest.

"You piece of _shit_." Dave slammed his free hand against Bro's chest, and then he did it again, hitting harder and harder. He just wanted Bro to _move_ , he wanted his brother to feel _human_ for once. But the AI dictating his reactions didn't make a move to stop Dave, or even to speak. Bro's head turned down only slightly, just enough to watch him, and Dave _sobbed_. "I hate you! You were _awful_! I only wanted you to look like you _cared_ about me! Did you ever? Was the sparring how you showed affection? Was buying me apple juice how you showed that you fucking cared? Or was I just a soldier to you, someone to train whose feelings didn't mean jack _shit_?" His hand throbbed now, and he finally couldn't keep punching. He reached up with his bruised hand, shaking with the force of holding back tears as he wiped at his cheeks. He looked up at Bro, but wasn't at all surprised to see that his expression hadn't changed. "I... I didn't need a drill instructor to learn how to take care of myself. _Why couldn't you have just been a dad?_ "

He held his breath, blinking away the tears gathered in his eyes. Bro didn't react, almost as if he hadn't heard Dave speaking at all.

It was just about the most in-character thing he had done this entire time.

Dave pushed his shades up, rubbing his eyes until they were red and irritated, but dry. "Dirk, turn it off." He sighed, straightening his rumpled clothes. Around him, the world fell apart. Bro unraveled, and the oven went too, taking the walls and the ground and the sky with it, until Dave was left standing alone in blackness.

He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, he was back in the lab. Silent, he reached up, taking the helmet off of his head. Even though he was wearing shades, Dave avoided looking at Dirk. The air in the room was ripe with tension. Experimental technology meant that Dirk had insisted on being in the room to monitor the interaction, and see how his invention held up. He probably should have picked someone who was less of a wreck than Dave was to test-pilot it.

Karkat's hand came down to rest on his shoulder. Dave didn't need to look up to know that his boyfriend was frowning. "Are you okay?" His voice was quiet, almost serene. Despite the mood of the room, Dave felt his chest squeeze with affection. Karkat wasn't angry with him for not talking about all of the things he had bottled up. He wasn't offended that Dave hadn't come to him to vent when his thoughts became too much. He was just there, supportive without needing to speak more than a few words.

"...I'm fine." Dave took a deep breath and put the helmet back on. "Dirk, turn the realistic setting down as far as you can." He wasn't sure if that was actually what the mode was called, but Dirk turned back to the bank of monitors anyway, typing something out.

"This time, tell me to pull you out before you work yourself up to a breakdown." His voice was clipped, with a hint of masked worry behind it that made Dave _so glad_ that Dirk was nothing like Bro.

Dave didn't reply to him, merely closing his eyes and relaxing against the chair. He felt the sensation of sitting leave him and for a split second, there was nothing. No emotions, no memories, no air, no surroundings at all. When he opened his eyes again, almost against his will, his apartment was back.

This time though, he wasn't quite as impressed. Everything looked blurry, almost, like a mess of colors and shapes he would only see in passing. He turned and looked at Bro for the second time. Like the apartment, he wasn't realistic at all.

His shades were removed, something that Dave had never once seen in his life. Even though he knew it wasn't real, that it never was and never could be, Dave still felt his stomach tighten at the way Bro was looking at him. He had always imagined his brother would have sharp, severe eyes, but now, they looked so soft and accepting…

This time, when Bro extended his hand, it was to take hold of Dave's and pull him into a hug.

It was a lie. He was enjoying, indulging, _reveling_ in the filthiest lie he had ever experienced. But that didn't keep Dave from breaking. He clutched Bro's shirt, and the computer was trying so little that the material didn't even have a texture. It felt like air, like Dave was holding onto _nothing_ as he cried into his brother's chest. Beneath his touch, Bro felt solid and warm, almost unnaturally so. Dave didn't care. He had his brother's arms around him, holding him, stroking his hair like he was three again and cut his knee. He never felt more like a child than when Bro was around.

The next morning, he would try again. Eventually, he would be strong enough to keep from giving into this selfish desire. He would be brave enough to finally move on from Bro, from their past together.

But for the time being, he tried to pretend that Bro would ever allow him to do this, and let himself cry.


End file.
